


Heartstrings

by RishiDiams



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-12 08:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18007166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams
Summary: Ian Docherty is poised for stardom, the only thing he wants is to take Rose Tyler with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caedmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/gifts).



> So, sometime in late January, I told Caedmon a tiny white lie. I _was_ writing. 
> 
> What many of you don’t know is that for the last 17 months my personal life has been a mess, and my writing has really suffered. If it weren’t for Caed picking up my slack, WWMO would never have been finished, and I have appreciated every positive word and encouragement she has given me. So, when I was driving around not long after the new year and a fully-formed rocker!Ian story appeared in my brain, my first thought was, "I must tell Caed!" Then it occurred to me that her birthday was only two months away and what better way to say 'happy birthday' than with a gift.
> 
> I've got most of the story already written and I expect it will be no more than four or five chapters.
> 
>   
>  Art by the amazing [ Rose-Nebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Nebula/pseuds/Rose_Nebula), who somehow always manages to pull exactly what I want directly from my brain with very little instruction. In this case it was, "that pic of Capaldi where he's leaning against the trailer" and "CD cover". Extra thanks and love to you, Gertrude, for all of your help with the story and keeping it a secret from Ethel. :) 

Ian slammed on his guitar, finishing the solo with a flair that was uniquely his. As he moved into the final verse of the song, he looked out over the crowd and let their enthusiasm feed the rush of energy that had overtaken him the moment he’d stepped onto the stage. After a year of playing gigs back home in Glasgow, he’d finally decided to try his luck in London, and now, only two months later, he couldn’t say he regretted the decision.

There were many people dancing riotously between him and the bar, but the crowd pressing against the stage singing along to the popular tune was at least eight people deep. There were a few familiar faces in the crowd, too; it was his fourth London show and the idea that he’d developed a following only added fuel to propel his fingers across the strings.

At the front of the crowd off to the right, a young woman’s face shined up at him, the upward curve of her full lips not diminishing in the least as they moved along to the lyrics and her blonde ponytail swinging merrily as she bopped in place. She was vaguely familiar, like maybe he’d seen her at a previous gig, but he couldn’t say for sure. She was probably at least ten years younger than him, possibly barely old enough to be allowed into the bar in the first place, but her dark eyes never left him. Ian wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. As the song wound down, he tossed her a saucy wink, his heart beating a little bit faster when her cheeks colored in response.

“Thank you, Boisdale!” he shouted into the microphone three songs later, the cheers of the crowd following him as he made his way through the door at the back of the stage which lead to the “green room,” little more than a closet he’d been allowed to keep his guitar case and other personal effects.

Within minutes, he’d packed up and collected his payment from the bartender. A blonde waited on the pavement outside, fag glowing between her fingers, and she looked up when he appeared, a predatory smile crossing her delicate features. But it wasn’t her, the one from the front row, and he was a little surprised by the disappointment which struck him. Ian had never been interested in women who only wanted to shag the lead singer, and he had no plans to start now. But it would be rude not to at least stop and say hi to a fan. He shifted the backpack on his right shoulder and tightened his grip on his guitar case.

“Hi there,” she purred before taking a long drag on her cigarette in a way he assumed was supposed to be suggestive.

“Hi. Enjoyed the show?”

“Yeah. You’re good.” She moved closer and ran her fingers down the front of his t-shirt, not seeming bothered in the least that it - and he - were still drenched in sweat. He had to resist the urge to take a step away from her. “Best I’ve seen in awhile. How about you and me go back to mine and you show me what else those fingers are good for?”

He made excuses and extricated himself as quickly as he could then continued down the street towards the bus stop without a backward glance.

The next Friday night found him stepping on stage once again to make music the way he’d dreamed of since childhood. He was booked solid with gigs for the next five weekends, and the lyrics he was writing during the days were coming along nicely. Any day now he expected to have a demo ready to send out. His life was going great.

Adding to his exceptional mood, _she_ was in the crowd again, in the front row, so close he could reach down and touch her if he wanted, her smile just as bright as it had been the week before. She was with another young woman, dark haired and petite, and as the evening wore on, the two moved frequently between the designated dancing space and their spots at the stage. Every time she returned to gaze intently up at him, Ian had to resist the urge to preen.

She didn’t wait for him outside.

Over the next few weeks, she became a regular face at his gigs. Occasionally, he’d wink down at her while doing something impressive on his guitar, just to see the gorgeous flush which would grace her cheeks in response. She’d appear alone, with any number of females, and - just when he was beginning to wonder if she preferred the company of the fairer sex - a dark-skinned lad she appeared quite familiar with joined her once or twice. Ian’s nights after those shows had been particularly long.

She’d reject the advances of any man who approached her. But unlike so many of the other women (and some of the men) in the pubs, despite the attention she showed him, she never waited for him after the show, never tried to pull him. And with her he thought he might not mind. _Okay,_ he was willing to admit in the confines of his mind, _it was driving him spare._ But he told himself that if she was interested she’d make a move.

And then, one night, she wasn’t there. He played the gig as expected, but with a fraction of the heart and energy he normally poured into his work. He’d finally sent off his demos, the crowds attending his shows were only growing, with more and more familiar faces singing back up to him every week, the few original songs he’d tested during the shows had been well-received, and the advert he’d put out for a drummer had garnered him several prospects. But despite all of those successes, her absence was a palpable thing.

By the time he realized the local universities were in the midst of exams, two bloody weeks had passed and she was back, her smile not dimmed in the least. The last chord of the last song was still echoing through the pub when he whipped his guitar off of his neck and handed it to the new drummer he was trying out, Francis or Frederick - no, it was something Scottish - Frazer? _It didn’t matter._ Then he jumped down from the stage to find himself face to face with her.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she echoed, her tongue touching her teeth as she grinned. But that was as far as they got before he was mobbed by the rest of his fans.

Acting on pure instinct, Ian slid his hand into hers. “Run.”

He led the way, parting the crowd pressing in on them as he bolted for the door, and didn’t stop running until they were several blocks away.

“Sorry about that,” he managed, looking around as they caught their breath. “I appear to have, um, kidnapped you.”

She burst into laughter and he found himself grinning in response, relieved that she didn’t seem concerned about him quite literally running off with her. “Well, mate, I’ve got to say, that’s definitely a first.”

“How about I buy you dinner to make up for it?”

The last of her giggles stopped abruptly but before he could get self-conscious about it, her soft eyes met his gaze. “What did you have in mind?”

Ian glanced around, suddenly realizing that they were standing on a street corner at 2 a.m. and he’d just invited her to dinner. Surely no restaurant worth mentioning was still open. The smart thing to do would be to make plans to meet her another time, but after months of her slipping through his fingers, he didn’t want to let her go.

Her hand slipped back into his as she inhaled deeply. “Can you smell chips? I want chips.”

He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all - and a healthy dose of relief. “Me, too.”

“Right, then. Chips it is,” she announced.

It wasn’t until he reached into his back pocket when it came time to pay that Ian remembered his wallet was in his guitar case back at the pub.

“What kind of date are you?” she giggled as she pulled a bright pink wallet out of a clever little pouch hidden on the inside of her waistband, the reveal of which gained him a view of fair skin. “Alright, tightwad, chips are on me.”

Her name was Rose, he learned once they were seated, a heaping basket of chips between them. She was 19 - a full eight years younger than himself - and just finishing her second year at uni, with an eye towards a first in marketing. She seemed utterly immune to anything that hinted at his future fame, even the fact that one of the demos he’d sent out had gotten him an interview with a record label. And by the time the chips were long gone and they’d run out of excuses to linger, Ian put her on a bus home wondering if he wasn’t half in love with her already.

He took his time walking back to the pub, and arrived to see a red-headed man lounging on the hood of a car. Closer inspection revealed it was the drummer he’d hired for the night. _Fergus_ , that was his name!

“You’re lucky I like you,” the other man said as climbed down and opened the car to take out Ian’s guitar case. “The bartender let me stay inside as long as he could, but he eventually had to close up. I would have gone home before too much longer. I hope she was worth it.”

“I’m going to marry that girl, Fergus.”

“Yeah? Well, good on ya.”

“The next gig is Friday night at Dingwalls. Meet you there at 6?”

Ian slipped his guitar case out of Fergus’ hand while the other man gaped at him. “I -- I thought you wanted to try out a few other drummers before you made a decision?”

“Nope. I can do no wrong today. I’ve got an interview with Atlantic Records on Tuesday, I’ve finally, properly met the woman I’m going to marry, and you were great tonight, so I’ve got myself a drummer.”

“Well, alright then.” Fergus thrust his hand forward and they shook on it. “Yes. Let’s do this.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ian’s hand slid down Rose’s side and snuck under the hem of her t-shirt, but he only rubbed gently against the soft skin there rather than let it distract him from what their mouths were doing. They were horizontal on the couch in the flat he’d shared with Fergus for the last three months, and Ian had texted him earlier, stopping just shy of begging the ginger man to be somewhere else for the evening. Two months of snogging Rose Tyler, and things had escalated progressively more each time. Ian was hopeful that this time they wouldn’t stop until they were both sweaty and exhausted in his bed.

Rose broke the kiss with a gasp and Ian ran his lips down the length of her neck.

“Ian,” she panted when he pushed the neck of her shirt out of the way so he could suck on her collarbone, and his brain didn't want to register that her tone had changed since the last time she spoke. She was becoming more clear-headed.

He lifted his head to see an apologetic half-smile. After a deep breath which was definitely not a sigh, he lifted himself off of her and she sat up, drawing her legs close to make room for him.

“What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to call bullshit. _Something_ kept stopping her, and he was trying not to be bitter about how very accustomed to cold showers he’d become.

“It’s not you.”

His stomach flipped. “That’s the kind of thing people usually say before they break up with someone.” Ian closed his eyes, unable to look at her but needing to ask the question, “Are you --”

“No.” He opened his eyes when he felt her move, shifting onto her knees and scooting closer to him. His arms went around her automatically and he leaned into the gentle touch when she ran her fingers over the hair above his ear.

“I know you said you were worried about the groupie thing. I’ve told you, I don’t see you like that and none of them hold any interest for me.”

“It’s not that either.”

“Then what is it?”

“My next term is about to start. I’ve got two years left until I graduate. And it’s only going to get harder from here. I need to concentrate on my classes.”

His arms tightened slightly around her. “I don’t like the sound of that. I hardly get to see you as it is. Besides, when I get a recording contract, I’ll have more than enough money. You won’t even need a degree.”

“‘When’? There’s no guarantee of that, Ian. You sent out how many demos and only got _one_ interview. What if you never get a contract? We’ll need some way of supporting ourselves. You have no idea how many washed up wannabe rock stars are on the estate. Or... what if something happens and we do break up? I’ll need --”

“That’s never going to happen.”

“It can happen. It happens all the time.”

He cupped her cheek and brought her face down to his, kissing her for all he was worth. “It won’t. Not to us. I won’t allow it. I love you too much.”

“And I love you, too, but --”

Ian kissed her again. “There are no buts. Except yours, Miss Tyler, which is rather magnificent.” He slid the hand that was still on her back down to squeeze her arse, setting them both giggling.

Once they settled down, he nestled her into his side and flipped on the telly, feeling a bit like he’d dodged a bullet. The next day when Fergus returned to the flat, Ian ignored his knowing grin by shutting himself in his bedroom and pouring all of his conflicted emotions into song lyrics. He’d completed two more songs and had the beginnings of a third before he saw Rose again a few days later.

“Mum wants to meet you," she announced casually. 

Ian stilled, his whole body suddenly tense. Rose was _it_ for him, and he knew it, but that didn’t make the prospect of meeting her mother any less terrifying. “When?”

“Saturday for tea.”

With a relieved exhale he was able to assert control over his body again. “I have a gig Saturday, sweetheart. I can’t. You need to give me more notice than that.”

“More notice? It’s five days away.”

“Yeah, but you know how far in advance some of these gigs are scheduled. There’s not much I can do about it.”

“What about another day?”

“You and your mum pick a day and I’ll be there. I promise.”

~*~O~*~

“I see you’re by yourself again.”

“Next time, mum,” Rose said as she took off her jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. “He promises.”

Jackie scoffed but went back to stirring the pot on the stove. Rose sat at the kitchen table and waited. She knew better than to think that was all she’d hear about Ian’s absence. After a moment’s silence, Jackie turned around again. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Mum!”

“It’s a fair question. Though you don’t have to answer it. I can see it all over your face that you’re not. And a good thing, too. Not much other reason for a man that age to be taking up with a girl barely 19. A ‘musician’ with no prospects who can’t even be arsed to meet his girlfriend’s mother.”

“It’s only eight years. Dad was 15 years older than you.”

“Yeah? And look where that got me. Widowed with a baby when I was not much older than you are now. Stuck on the estate for the rest of my life.”

“I think you did okay,” Rose muttered.

“But you could be so much more, sweetheart. And I bet he’s trying to get you to quit school again.”

“It’s not like that, mum. He just… doesn’t understand why it’s so important to me. He says once he gets a recording contract he’ll be able to take care of me.”

“Ha! You mean ‘if’. That boy will be waiting tables and begging you money before the year’s out, mark my words. Where would you be then if you left school? Living in a shabby bedsit working two jobs to support him? I don’t think so. Not my daughter. Don’t you let him distract you.”

Rose pursed her lips, unwilling to admit she’d said much the same thing to Ian. “I wish you’d make up your mind. One minute it’s ‘that fancy school of yours is giving you airs and graces’ and the next it’s ‘don’t let that boy distract you.’”

“I don’t want you to forget where you come from. I don’t want to look at you one day and not recognize my own daughter. But don’t you go mistaking that for anything else. I’m proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

“Yeah.”

The closer it got to the beginning of the term, the more Rose thought about what she’d told Ian. She loved him, yes, remarkably deeply for having known him such a short period of time, but getting her degree was very important to her. And his dismissal of her hard work made it clear he didn’t understand. She knew his parents were well-off, providing him enough with money to live comfortably in London while pursuing his dream. If she left school, she’d end up working in a shop - or two - just to afford a shabby bedsit, like her mum said.

Ian might never get a recording contract, but he was getting more popular, often being booked for several shows a week. Because of school, she rarely managed to be his gigs, supporting him the way he deserved. As much as she loved him and the things they did together, she couldn’t devote all of her free time to him the way he wanted and still maintain the level of dedication to her studies she needed for her first. Being with him was forcing her to compromise her goals. He wouldn't understand. He didn't want to understand. Once she’d made up her mind about that, the rest was simple.

If ‘simple’ somehow equated to the single most heart-wrenching thing Rose had ever done. He greeted her at the door to his flat with a quick kiss then went off in search of food to order. She barely managed to say his name before she was blubbering uncontrollably, and the confusion on poor Ian’s face when he looked up from the drawer full of takeaway menus didn’t help. 

“Sweetheart?” He was out of the kitchen and gathering her up in his arms within seconds. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t understand when she started talking, couldn’t understand her through the tears, though Rose doubted she was making much sense in the first place. But somewhere between “can’t do this” and “I’m sorry” it dawned on him what she was saying. He turned white as a sheet.

“Rose, calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

She shook her head as she backed out of his arms, reaching out of reflex to touch his face to reassure him and maybe take away a bit of the sadness she saw there, but stopping herself at the last second.

“Goodbye, Ian.” And then she fled, half expecting him to chase after her, but she made it back to her flat on campus without hearing his footsteps behind her.

There were messages on her mobile when she remembered she’d left it muted in her pocket.

_Can we talk?_   
_Sweetheart?_

And another, several minutes after those two, _At least let me know you made it home okay._

_I’m home,_ she texted back, because saying she was fine was not an option. _There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve made up my mind._

A picture of Ian popped up in front of the messages, indicating an incoming call. The sight of his bright smile made her heart ache even more, but Rose tapped the power button to dim the screen then placed her mobile face down on the coffee table.


	3. Chapter 3

London was claiming him as her own. It was no surprise, but Rose wondered how his family in Glasgow felt about it. The first single from his upcoming album had exploded onto the charts. She couldn’t go to the grocers without seeing his face on tabs and magazines in the checkout lines, and any store even remotely related to music had posters in the windows, many with countdowns to the album release date. The whole town was saturated with Ian. 

The only good thing to come out of it, as the build up to the release of his first album grew, her mum became less likely to remind her how lucky she was to have gotten out of the relationship when she did. But only _less_ likely. The mantra had changed slightly and now also extolled the drug and groupie filled horrors of the life of a famous musician.

After the break-up, Rose had continued her normal life as best she could, though maybe with metaphoric blinders on. When she walked down the street with her head down, it was more than a protection against the winter chill.

_“So, Ian, one last question before you go.”_

Rose closed her eyes and prayed for patience. She’d become an expert at avoiding any of Ian’s interviews, and now she’d walked right into one. It sounded like the interview would soon be over, and the rapt expressions she’d seen on the other people in the chippie as they watched the wall-mounted telly meant she was unlikely to convince the boy behind the counter to change the station.

_“Sure. Ask me anything.”_  
  
_“There’s been a lot of speculation, maybe you can clear it up for us. Is there a special someone in your life?”_

Ian didn’t say anything right away, and there was a sudden void of noise in the chippie, suggesting that everyone was holding their breath in anticipation of the answer. Rose opened her eyes again and chanced a look at the telly. Her breath caught along with everyone else's, though for a different reason. He looked good, his hair styled slightly differently and wearing a blazer over a t-shirt and tight-fitting jeans. They'd now been broken up for longer than they'd been together, but she still missed him as though no time had passed.

_“Let's just say the music comes from somewhere and leave it at that for now.”_

The interviewer said something insipid that caused the corners of Ian's eyes to tighten, but his smile never faltered. After a brief goodbye, the interview was over and life in the chippie resumed. Rose ordered her food to go. 

One week later, on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday near the end of January, Rose stayed home from class. She spent the day in bed, crying her eyes out. Ian now had an album out on a major record label; his face and voice were everywhere. It was the only moment of self pity she’d allowed herself since the day they’d broken up, and the next morning she picked herself up and arrived at her 8 a.m. lecture with five minutes to spare.

Her professors had taken note of her dedication, and the next time an ad agency came around looking for interns, her name was the first one mentioned. After what seemed like a perfunctory interview, she was hired on immediately. The agency was great to work for, and her work impressed her new boss so much she was offered a very special project. When the files arrived and she saw what she’d be working on, she had to take a few minutes to compose herself.

The beginning of Ian’s first world tour was planned to coincide with the release of his second album. And she’d somehow gotten hired on by the ad agency contracted to do his publicity. The first thing she did once she’d gotten herself under control was scrap nearly everything that had already been done. It probably represented weeks’ worth of work, but Ian would hate it. A few days later, she submitted her version to her boss.

“TYLER!” Rose winced as her boss rounded the corner of her cubicle a few minutes later. “I know you hate his music, but you can’t completely revamp the project this close to the deadline.”

“I don’t hate his music.”

“Come off it, Rose. Everyone knows you do. It’s not like a big secret. You turn the radio down every single time one of his songs comes on. You’ve got frankly abysmal taste in music, but you’re talented.”

“I am talented,” she replied, deciding not to defend her taste in music and run the risk of exactly why she paid so much attention to the radio volume coming to light. “And I saved the original image. Take my version to Ian and see what he thinks. Meanwhile, I’ll finish the touch-ups you asked for on the original. If he hates it, you can show him that one instead.”

She wasn’t the least bit surprised when no one ever asked her for the original image.

~*~O~*~

Rose threw open the door of her mum’s flat, wildly waving a piece of paper in one hand while wiping away tears with the other.

“I did it!” she yelled before breaking into a dance right there in the doorway. 

Jackie came out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was about and stood there watching her daughter with a crooked grin on her face.

“I did it!” Rose said again, running up and hugging her mum before thrusting the paper with her test scores into the other woman’s hand. The scores had only just been announced, and she’d printed them as quickly as she could before catching a bus to her mum’s flat.

It took Jackie a second to recognize what she was looking at, but then her eyes filled with tears, too. “Oh, sweetheart!”

Rose did another little dance move.

Jackie fluttered around for a moment before stopping and looking Rose dead in the eyes. “This deserves a celebration. Let me grab my purse. We’ll go to dinner.”

They ended up at a little Italian restaurant where they stuffed themselves on pasta and drank cheap champagne, Jackie proudly telling anyone who asked - and many who didn’t - that Rose would be graduating with her first in one week.

She spent the night before graduation in her childhood bed at her mum’s. They’d already moved all of her things out of the campus flat where she’d lived for the last few years, and she’d start hunting for a new place soon. Her excitement upon waking up the next morning quickly dimmed, though. A very familiar voice was coming from somewhere in the flat, and when she opened her bedroom door, she recognized it as the tinny radio her mum kept in the kitchen. And then her mum’s voice joined in.

Rose stormed through the lounge and stood at the kitchen door with her hands on her hips.

“ _If you’re what it takes_ ,” Jackie sang as she cracked an egg into a skillet while doing a little wiggle Rose could have gone her whole life without seeing. “ _Yeah, baby, if you’re what it takes_.”

“Mum.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she spun around. “Take a year off my life, sneaking up on me like that, Rose Tyler.”

Rose didn’t say anything, just pointed furiously at the radio in time for Ian’s voice to fade away.

“It’s a good song,” Jackie defended with a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. “He’s got a lot of good songs.”

“And what about, ‘he’ll go nowhere fast’ and ‘he doesn’t respect you’?”

Jackie straightened and pointed the spatula at her. “He didn’t respect you. I stand by that.”

“Flip the egg, mum.”

“What? Oh!” Jackie spun around and flipped the sizzling egg, barely saving it before it burned. “Just because I was wrong about his career doesn’t mean I was wrong about your relationship.”

“You were wrong about the other thing, too. The drugs and the groupies. There’s been nothing, not one hint that he does any of it.”

“Just because you haven’t heard about it doesn’t mean it’s not happening behind the scenes, sweetheart.” Jackie slid the egg onto a plate and grabbed a couple of pieces of toast from a pile. “Here. Sit down and eat, and when you’re done I’ll start working on your hair.”

Rose did as she was told, but she had no appetite and only stabbed at her food.

“He’s coming back to London, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. I’ve spent the last two years avoiding anything to do with him.”

“He’s going to finish up his tour here next year.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She pulled something out of her pocket and looked at it. “March 15th. 7 p.m. at the O2 Arena.”

“That’s nice.”

“Well, fine,” Jackie scoffed, “if you don’t want to go…”

“What?”

Jackie put the piece of paper down on the table and slid it over to her. It was a ticket - a front row ticket - to Ian’s show. “I bought it ages ago, as soon as they went on sale.”

“Oh my God!” Rose jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around her mother. Then she pulled back. “Mum! Those tickets aren’t cheap!”

“Oi! It’s not every day my daughter graduates from university. You deserve something nice. Besides, if he happens to see you there…”

Rose sobered instantly. “I’ve lost my chance, haven’t I?”

“You don’t know that. Even if he doesn’t see you at the concert, he’s still got your number. The tour is ending and he’ll be in London a while. He might look you up again.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Then don’t. Just go and enjoy the show.”

“Thank you, mum. Really. This is incredible.”

Jackie hugged her again. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now finish your breakfast.”

As she walked across the stage later that afternoon to accept her diploma, the victory felt hollow. She couldn’t help but wish Ian was there to see her.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, cockwomble, they want us in the green room in twenty.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian scribbled a little faster on the paper in front of him, determined to finish the lyrics he was working on before he had to leave. He picked up another page and handed it to Fergus without turning around. “Here, read this. Let me know what you think.”

“Oh, is this the one from Berlin? It finally finished marinating?”

Ian waved him away and went back to writing. “Just read it.”

For a moment, the only sound was Ian’s pen scratching. Then Fergus sighed melodramatically.

“Ahh, Rose. The one who got away.”

Ian whipped his head around to see Fergus lounging on the sofa. “Shut it, you bawbag. It’s not about her.”

The ginger man sat up straighter. “You’re fooling yourself if you actually believe that, mate. You’ve even used her _name_.”

“I did not!” Ian lunged for the lyrics but Fergus held them out of his reach. 

“Let’s see. Where was it? Ah, yes, _your love is like a rose to me_.”

“That’s… that’s not what I --” he ran a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s been three years, bampot,” Fergus said, not unkindly.

And it would likely be three more at least. Without a word, Ian extended his hand and Fergus returned the lyrics. His eyes skimmed the page unnecessarily; he'd memorized the words written on it months ago, not long after writing them in Berlin. But seeing it through Fergus’ eyes, he recognized it for what it truly was: a heartbroken plea to the woman he loved.

Fergus’ hand landed on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get to the green room.”

A cry rose up when they stepped out of their dressing rooms and Ian let Fergus guide him over to where a small crowd of fans stood behind a barricade. They signed posters, ticket stubs, CD liner notes, and - in one notable instance - a fan’s chest before security hurried them along to the green room. 

They didn’t have long to wait before they were escorted backstage. The opening act finished and adrenaline surged through Ian’s body as the crowd’s screaming intensified. 

He lived for this. The last time he’d played London, it had been a gig at the Barfly in front of less than 200 people. Now he was minutes away from stepping on stage at the O2 Arena, the headlining act on the final stop of his first world tour. 

When the guys from the opening act passed by them, Ian and Fergus took their positions beneath the stage where the rest of the band already waited. Fergus counted off four beats with his drumsticks and as they began to play, the platform they were on was raised up onto the stage. The audience’s screaming and Ian’s adrenaline reached a fever pitch. 

Halfway through the first song, Ian looked down into the crowd and saw Rose’s face shining up at him. The unexpected surprise left him so stunned he nearly missed his next entrance. She blushed and looked away, obviously well aware of what had caused his lapse. For the rest of the concert, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, enjoying herself so thoroughly, dancing and singing along to lyrics that he’d written, the same way she’d done when he first met her.

When it came to the final song of the night, he started playing the intro, but instead of continuing he repeated it over and over as he walked to one of the black-shirted security guards standing just offstage. 

“Blonde in the front, pink hoodie.”

The man blinked in surprise, but only nodded, and Ian made his way back to center stage, arriving just as he moved into the first verse of the song. He sang his heart out, winking to Rose when the security guard tapped her on the shoulder. Ian had been informed early on in a wink-wink-nudge-nudge sort of way that if there was ever a girl he fancied in the audience all he’d have to do was point her out and someone would make sure she ended up backstage. He’d never had a need for such a service before now.

Rose’s face was scarlet, but she allowed herself to be escorted away. With the distraction of her gone, Ian was able to finish out the set without embarrassing himself. 

Before the last note finished ringing through the arena, he hurried off stage, thrusting his guitar at the first stagehand he came across. For the first time in three years, Rose stood only a few feet away, and she looked happy to see him.

He thought better of it for one fleeting second, but couldn’t stop himself from sweeping her up into a huge hug. He’d barely managed to put her down and say hello before Fergus and the rest of the band were upon them. The others took the fact that Ian was focused on a girl as a hint and did little more than wink suggestively before they moved on, but of course, Fergus decided to stick around.

“Don’t I get an introduction?”

“Fergus, this is Rose.”

“Nice to --” he started, extending his hand before stopping abruptly. “Rose? Did you say _Rose_?”

“Yes. Rose. Now go away.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Fergus grinned broadly and took Rose’s hand in his, kissing it gently. “Do us all a favor and put him out of his misery. Please.”

She giggled when Ian reached out and smacked the glaikit bastard’s shoulder. 

Fergus feigned hurt for only a second before his grin returned. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t ‘go away’ yet, loverboy. Our public awaits.”

Ian almost asked what Fergus was talking about when the rhythmic thumping and chanting of the audience finally registered. He swore colorfully, deliberately ignoring the knowing look in Fergus’ eyes. 

“Sweetheart, we have to go back on. It’ll only be a song or two. I want -- I’d like to talk after. Can you stay?”

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ve never seen a concert from backstage before.”

Ian leaned down and pressed a kiss onto her cheek. If he had his way she would be backstage for all of his concerts. “Thank you.”

“ _The_ Rose?” Fergus asked when they stopped so Ian could get his guitar back.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t feck it up this time, okay?”

“You worry about not fucking up the transition to the bridge this time. I’ll worry about Rose.”

He’d never realized it before, but while he was still excited - thrilled - about going on stage to the sound of thousands of people screaming his name, it felt different knowing she was there watching him and that he could look into the wings at any moment and see her standing there. They ended up playing five songs, and when Ian left the stage a second time the crowd begged for more, but he was done for the night. Rose was still there waiting for him, and he didn’t want to try her patience any more than he already had.

“I’m sorry --” he said as he rushed up to her.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it.”

“Do you want to come back to my dressing room?”

Rose blushed deeply and before he could disabuse her of what she was thinking, Fergus clapped him on the back. 

“Moving kind of quickly there, eh, loverboy?”

“Go away, Fergus,” he ground out before turning back to Rose. “They’re going to be tearing down the stage in a few minutes. It’ll be loud and we’ll be in the way. I have to change and pack up anyway, so I thought…” He trailed off when she nodded.

He guided her through the hallways to his dressing room, his hand on the small of her back the whole time, ignoring the stunned looks directed his way by nearly everyone they passed. Ian didn’t realize Fergus had followed them until they were almost at his door and he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“I’ll make your excuses,” Fergus said, pointing down a different hallway.

Shit. The meet and greet and after-party. Ian glanced down at Rose. There was no way in hell he was going to subject her to that kind of scrutiny before they were able to talk and even less chance he was going to leave her behind so he could go without her.

He shot his friend a grateful look. “Thank you.”

Fergus nodded, but then his eyes twinkled. “Rose, after nine months in a tour bus together, I don’t want to see this ugly bastard for at least a week, maybe two, so don’t feel like you have to stop whatever it is you kids are going to get up to on my account.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Fergus.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that, lass.” Fergus winked outrageously then saluted them before heading off towards the meet and greet.

Rose watched him go. “Do you have to… I don’t know, go mingle or something?”

“I’ve been a dutiful servant for the last nine months,” he said gesturing her through the door of his dressing room. “They can spare me tonight.”

He’d probably hear about his absence in the morning, though, if not sooner, but his mind was made up and he’d gladly weather whatever punishment the label would send his way in exchange for spending time with Rose.

“Are you sure?” she asked, not meeting his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way if there’s someone you want to spend time with.”

“Rose. What are you really asking?”

She took a deep breath. “I know the pap are usually horrendous, but I haven’t heard --”

“There’s not been anyone.”

“No one?”

“No one. What about you?” he asked as casually as he could. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Me? No. I’ve been too busy with school and work for that. But it is fun to say, ‘Ian Docherty? Oh yeah, I snogged that guy before he was a famous rock star.’”

“Is it?”

“No, you plum. I would never. Mum’s kicking herself, though.”

_Good_ , he didn’t say, but she looked amused when he cleared his throat, as though she’d heard the emphatic word anyway. “How is she?”

“She’s seeing someone. Another Pete, like my dad. It’s kind of mental, but he’s a great bloke. She’s happy.”

“Good. That’s… good.”

“Oh, listen to us. Talking about my mum. Come here.” She threw her arms around him and Ian gathered her close, burying his face in her neck. The next thing he knew, she turned and pressed her lips to his.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no hesitation on Ian’s part. The instant she kissed him, he reciprocated, his arms tightening around her as his lips moved in time with hers. After a moment the kiss deepened, though Rose couldn’t have said which one of them initiated it. It was almost as though they’d never been apart. 

She had no idea how long they stood there wrapped up in each other, but reluctantly - so very reluctantly - she broke the kiss. “Ian.”

He whined deep in his throat, his face scrunching up in displeasure, but he released her and took a few steps away. “I have never understood how you do that. Being with you _consumes_ me and yet it’s nothing for you to put a stop to things.”

“I never said it was easy.”

Ian snorted. “Could have fooled me.”

“It’s been three years,” she said softly. “We should talk first, don’t you think?”

Something that looked like hope lit up in his eyes, though she could see it was tempered. “And then?”

“I’d like to see where it goes.” He smiled brilliantly and closed the distance between them again, but she put her hand on his chest to stop him from touching her. “I don’t want you to think I’m only doing this because you’re famous now.”

“Sweetheart, for the last three years I have held onto the mad hope that we’d find each other again. Never once did I even consider you would only want me because of the fame.”

“Good.” Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Because this has nothing to do with you shaking your arse on stage.”

His hands landed on her hips, gripping her loosely but in a way that definitely staked a claim, and he ducked his head a bit, teasingly. “But you like me shaking my arse on stage. Admit it.”

“I may have occasionally enjoyed --”

“Oh, you ‘may’. Tell me the truth.” He brushed his lips against hers.

“Might.”

Smirking, he kissed her again.

She pretended to consider. “Possibly.”

Her giggle was cut off by him pulling her tightly against him and slotting their mouths together. He wanted her, the growing erection pressing against her stomach left little room for doubt. And, despite the fact that they still hadn’t properly talked, if she didn’t stop him, she’d be in extreme danger of giving in.

She pushed against his shoulder. Ian grunted but didn’t release her, so she pushed a second time.

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he muttered against her lips. “I just want to enjoy this for a minute.”

“Shouldn’t you be packing?”

“They wouldn’t dream of kicking me out. Not for hours yet. Now quit trying to make me stop kissing you.”

Rose gave herself up to it, for the first time ever not trying to hold a part of herself back. She already knew he kissed like a god, but now she understood what he meant by it consuming him. She lost track of time. She lost track of everything, even the need to breathe, in favor of _feeling_. 

Eventually, the snogging came to an end, leaving her bereft when he placed one last small kiss on her lips before stepping away.

“Let me,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “and then we can get out of here, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.”

He shuffled his feet, his eyes falling to her lips. Rose blushed, but he didn’t start kissing her again. Her situation didn’t get any better when he grabbed the back of his t-shirt and whipped it over his head. She swallowed hard. If anything, he was in better shape than she remembered, his already lean muscles more defined.

Then he wrinkled his nose. “How did the smell not knock you out? I need to shower. Give me five minutes.”

Without waiting for an answer from her, he gathered a handful of clothes from an open suitcase she hadn’t even noticed and practically ran through a small door in the corner of the room. The water started, followed soon after by a yelp that made her giggle to think he hadn’t even waited for the water to heat up.

True to his word, he was back in only minutes, wearing jeans instead of the form-fitting leather things he’d been in before and a different t-shirt which clung to him in large wet patches, his hair dripping at the ends. Despite all of the snogging they’d just done while he was still dressed for the stage, this was _her_ Ian. This was the man she’d fallen in love with years earlier. 

The realization left her with a warm fuzzy feeling, which only intensified as he smiled gently at her before rushing around the room throwing things into his suitcase. When he was done, the suitcase and a backpack were stacked up neatly by the door. Then he took out his mobile and shot off a quick text. “There. That’s taken care of.”

He offered her his hand, fingers wiggling playfully, as he opened the door. Neither of them said anything as they left the Arena, Ian nodding politely at people they passed. Rose caught more than one person gaping at their clasped hands, but no one commented. Their reactions gave her a bit of reassurance Ian’s words hadn’t quite managed to achieve. 

“So what now?”

“Let’s just wander a bit. See where we end up.”

“Okay.” She gestured at a nearby sign. “Are you too famous to take the tube?”

“No,” he laughed, “but let’s just walk instead. We can hail a cab if we need.”

They didn’t discuss a direction, just followed their feet, walking beneath the lights along the Thames. Conversation came naturally as they shared light stories and details about their lives during their separation. Never once did they relinquish their hold on each other.

After they’d been walking a while, Ian perked up and started paying more attention to their surroundings. It wasn’t until he turned them away from the river and down a few streets that she figured out where he was taking her. She hadn’t realized they’d walked so far to end up near the site of their first unofficial date.

The chippie was only a few minutes away from closing, but they were able to get their order in. Ian paid, and they both laughed about how he’d left his wallet behind the first time. As they waited for their chips, Rose nudged him and pointed at a poster on the wall.

It was greasy and worn, torn on one corner, and now out of date, but she was still proud of the work she’d done. She smiled, glad that it had ended up in the place where it had all started for them.

Ian smiled, too. “Three years, two albums, and a world tour, and it’s still a bit surreal to see my face on a poster. You know, I saw this one at every stop on the tour, so I’m more than a little glad it turned out the way it did. You should have seen the first draft. It was awful. They tried to stick some pompous ass glamour rock star image on me.”

Rose snorted. “I remember. I'm quite proud to have gotten rid of all that glitter.”

It took him a second, but when he looked down at her, his eyes were filled with confusion.

“I ended up working for the ad agency your record label uses. I must have really impressed somebody for them to even let me _look_ at it before it was done, but they asked me to - well, let’s just say you would have hated the changes they wanted. Instead I took out everything that felt wrong, tweaked a few things, and voila.” She gestured at the poster.

“You did this?” Rose basked in the awe she heard in his voice. “I love this poster, the colors, the strong lines, the contrast between the light and the dark. I managed to get a copy in Berlin and brought it with me on the tour bus. Fergus laughed about my ego, but even he admitted to liking it. I wrote a song sitting under this poster. And you…”

He cupped the back of her neck and darted in to kiss her. A few minutes later the clearing of a throat pulled them apart to see an unamused employee standing there holding their chips.

“She designed that poster,” Ian explained before taking the chips, wrapping an arm around Rose’s shoulders, and guiding her back out onto the street, completely ignoring the dawning comprehension on the girl’s face.

They continued to walk as they ate, and it was very late before they tossed the rubbish in a bin. 

“I don’t want this night to end yet.”

Rose hummed and leaned closer into him. “Me either.”

“Come back to my hotel room with me. We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, I just… want you near me.”

Frankly, Rose thought the likelihood she would be comfortable with anything he suggested was pretty high, but their earlier conversation hadn’t grazed the circumstances of their break-up and she desperately wanted to get that out of the way before they went any further than snogging.

“Let’s get a cab.”

He bent down and pressed a kiss into her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

They found a cab and Ian gave the driver the address. A short time later, Rose’s jaw dropped when they arrived at the hotel and she realized where they were. Ian chuckled as he got out then turned to offer her his hand. “I’m famous now, remember?” 

He used a keycard in the lift to take them up to the penthouse and when the doors slid open Rose had never seen such opulence before. Classic art pieces on marble pedestals decorated an entryway the size of her mum’s lounge. To the left was a large archway leading into a dining room with a table big enough for eight laid out with fine china and crystal stemware. As they moved deeper into the suite they arrived at the sitting area which had gorgeous plush couches, a real wood burning fireplace, and a telly as big as her bed, with enormous glass doors that opened onto a private terrace. Somewhere there had to be a bedroom, but as badly as she wanted to see it, she didn’t want to give Ian the wrong impression by asking about it.

As she stood there, awed by the sight of London spread out below them, Ian came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I want to give you a view like this in every city I can.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she didn’t deserve such things, that she didn’t belong in the penthouse suite of a five star hotel unless she’d been hired to change the linens. She must have waited too long to answer because he continued.

“Sweetheart, I want us together. I know I bollocksed things up before. You deserved someone who would support you in your dreams not just drag you along in theirs, I understand that now. And even though I suffered for it, I’m proud of you for doing what was right for you. If you’ll give me another chance I can be that for you. We can make this work, I’m sure of it.”

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck then walked him backwards until his calves hit the sofa and he fell onto it. 

“I love you,” she said as she straddled his lap. His hands landed on her hips and he watched her with steadily darkening eyes. “These last few years, being apart from you, I felt cut off from the world. I can’t wait to see it all with you.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her senseless. As right as things felt between them, neither of them was in any hurry to do more. They had their entire future ahead of them.

As the sun started to come up, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Neither of them saw Fergus open the door to the suite hours later, put Ian’s things down then tiptoe over to them and smile fondly at what he saw before heading to his own room.


	6. Epilogue

“I have a little story to tell you,” Ian said as the notes of the previous song faded away. The audience quieted and looked up at him, enraptured. From off stage, Rose frowned, because they were only about three-quarters of the way through the set. She looked over at Fergus who shot her a wink. Just before Ian could say anything else, someone from the rafters shouted, “I love you, Ian!”

He let out an uncomfortable little laugh that Rose would recognize anywhere. He might do his best to radiate confidence while on stage, but he was still her bloke. “Funny you should say that, because that’s exactly what I want to talk about. There’s been a lot of speculation about my personal life over the last several years, and very little of it has been true.”

Rose’s stomach flipped and she nearly broke her own rule by stepping out onto the stage to shut him up. She’d kill him… just as soon as they were away from the public eye.

“For those of you wondering, there is a girl - a woman. We met - what is it now, sweetheart?” he asked, turning and looking into the wings where she stood, though she could tell by the smirk on his face that he knew the answer and was well aware what he was doing would earn him a smack at the very least. “Five years? Did you say _five_ years?”

He looked back at the audience, many of whom were laughing at his apparent forgetfulness, and started to walk across the stage as he continued his story. “She says it’s only been five years, but there’s no way that’s right because it feels like we’ve always been together. We met back when I was still playing pub gigs here in London.” He gestured at the stadium around them. “Long before any of this. She travelled with me on my first tour in my heart, because she had to stay here to finish her degree. I’d never been prouder than when she told me she’d gotten a first. Well, I’d never been so proud until a few nights ago when this wonderful, beautiful woman agreed to marry me.”

There was a slightly mixed reaction from the audience, but the prevailing reaction seemed to be _“awww”_. Rose looked down at the ring on her finger, a huge sapphire, the same shade of blue as Ian’s favorite guitar. She could still remember every moment of the night he’d offered it to her, and hoped she’d never forget.

“Now, you can ask Fergus,” he pointed at his drummer and best friend who saluted him with his drumsticks as Ian turned and started pacing to the other side of the stage, “and he’ll tell you that for the last few weeks I’ve been a nervous wreck. Because how could this beautiful, intelligent - frankly magnificent woman ever want to marry someone like me? And Fergus said I was being stupid --”

“No, I said you _were_ stupid, ye numpty,” Fergus yelled back, much to the amusement of Rose and the audience.

Ian waved him away with a grin. “Close enough.”

Rose watched, just as entranced as the people who had paid to see him, as the man she’d agreed to marry continued to tell the story of how he’d planned his proposal. Most of it was stuff she hadn’t heard yet, not even from Fergus who - much to Ian’s chagrin - had gleefully recounted several of Ian’s discarded plans to her in between sound checks and rehearsals over the last few days. 

She’d noticed the nervousness Ian had mentioned, of course, but had assumed it was concern for his upcoming tour. She still wasn’t entirely sure how they were going to manage, but Ian seemed confident they would so she was taking her cues from him. He’d talked about how proud he was of her, but she loved to brag on him as well. His third album had already outperformed the first two, with four number one hits and nearly breaking the label’s record for going platinum, and most of his upcoming tour dates were already sold out. It was going to be huge.

Ian turned again and started making his way back across the stage. “What she doesn’t know is that I wrote this next song for her. It’s a slight departure from my usual sound, but I’m pretty confident she’ll still love it. And I hope you will, too.”

He’d returned to center stage and stopped, looking over at her again. “I had to beg my label not to put it on the album. I wanted it to be a surprise, a gift for her. So, without further ado.”

Rose’s vision blurred as the music started. He watched her almost constantly throughout the song, and she tried to reflect back to him all of the love she heard in the words he sang. With the last note still sounding through the stadium, he hurried to her and pulled her into a hug before kissing her deeply.


End file.
